


A Weekend Escape

by izzet



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, I love when these boys are happy, M/M, No wings or tail because I just can't, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzet/pseuds/izzet
Summary: Baz and Simon take a break from their busy London lives for a romantic weekend in Cheshire. A collection of fluffy little vignettes of their weekend away.





	1. Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I just want to spend all day thinking about how happy these boys are. I'll post little vignettes of their weekend as I write them. I hope you enjoy!

**SIMON**

The countryside slides past, green and unvaried. I squint against the late afternoon sun, wishing again I hadn’t forgotten my sunglasses, and idly watch the telegraph poles as they tick past.

Baz squeezes my hand. Somewhere outside Birmingham I’d slid my hand below his on the gearshift. I like the feeling of his long fingers flexed over mine, and I enjoy the mirrored motion my hand makes as he changes gears.

I wouldn’t mind a sandwich right about now. Maybe I should ask him to stop? Nah, we’ll be there in less than an hour.

We’re driving to his parents’ home in Cheshire. It’s their third residence (of five, maybe? I can never remember) and Baz has triple-checked we’ll have the house to ourselves.

We need a weekend away. Since Baz has chosen to double-major in Economics and pre-law at LSE, I hardly get to see him without his nose stuck in a textbook. And I’ve picked up a barista job for a little extra spending money. Between my early morning shifts and his late-night studying, most of our encounters are in passing on the way to work or school or sleep.

I relax my head against the headrest and turn to watch his face. He glances at me and smiles.

Merlin, what karmic lottery did I win to get so lucky?

“What are you thinking right now?” I ask.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, just…what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

He purses his lips in thought. Mmm, those lips. I want to run my fingertip over them, trace the cool, delicate skin. I want him to bite the tip of my finger playfully.

Focus, Simon. Focus.

He smiles again, a wide unreserved smile I rarely see in London. “I was thinking about how I’m going to strip you naked the moment we walk in the door, and I’m going to hide all your clothes so you have to stay naked with me all weekend.”

“You’re joking.” (God, I hope he isn’t joking.)

He smirks. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see. Your turn, Snow, what are you thinking?”

He says it like he doesn’t one-hundred-percent know that all I’m thinking about now is him naked. The prat. (Sexy, soon-to-be naked prat.)

I shrug. “Nothing really.”

“Nothing? C’mon, I told you what I was thinking.”

I hope he can’t see that I’m nervous. He _always_ knows what to say. Should I say something sexy like he did? Is this a game we’re playing? What if I say the wrong thing?

My stomach grumbles as I dither over what to say. I could really go for a sandwich.

By this point I’ve passed the acceptable time limit for ‘what are you thinking’. Baz looks over at me, his features softening. “What’s on your mind, Simon?”

“It’s just – I – do you think there’ll be sandwiches?”

He laughs loudly and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. If he notices, he’s kind enough not to say anything. After flashing me an affectionate grin, he lifts my hand off the gearshift and kisses the inside of my palm.

“Yes, my love, I’m fairly certain there will be sandwiches.”


	2. Vinyl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has an accompnying song! You'll know when to play it.
> 
> [Unchained Melody](https://youtu.be/qiiyq2xrSI0)
> 
> You guys are the best! Thank you for your lovely comments, they make me so happy. <3

**BAZ**

I stretch out my legs on the coffee table and lean back into the oversized leather sofa. Merlin, I could get used to this. The quiet. The relaxation.

Snow pads into the room wearing only his low-slung tracksuit bottoms, carrying a plate with cheese on toast. He’s unbearably adorable with his rumpled hair and bare chest still flushed from earlier.

He smiles shyly under my gaze. “What? I was hot.”

Crowley, I don’t know how he thinks I could ever take offense to his going shirtless. I only dressed again out of habit, and because at some point I need to check in with the household staff.

He settles in next to me and asks through a mouthful of toast, “Where did you learn that- that thing you did earlier?”

I grin wickedly down at him. “From dark and twisted corners of the internet.”

He laughs warmly.

“Did you enjoy it?” I ask.

“I- it was really nice. I’d never-” He laughs again, fumbling over his words, and blushes a deep red. “We should do it again sometime.”

My lips curl into a satisfied smile at the memory. Him beneath me, back arched, breath caught in his throat. I almost fucking lost it when he whimpered.

“Any time,” I smirk, and playfully muss his curls.

Snow goes back to his toast and I watch him survey the room as he eats, taking in the warm, rich décor of my mother’s study. This is my favorite room in the house. Sometimes I find myself drawn here, like tonight. I can’t count how many evenings I’ve spent in here listening to music, studying, writing.

I want to share something with Snow. I rise from the sofa and cross to the built-in bookshelves that dominate the opposite wall. I lovingly run a finger over the multicolored spines. I’ve memorized the titles and bindings of every book on these shelves.

On the top shelf is my mother’s vinyl record collection. She loved music – we have that in common – and she had admirable taste. I’m pretty sure some of the older records belonged to her parents. And Aunt Fiona and my mum used to buy each other records. After she died, Fiona took back the ones that meant the most to her. I’ve listened to them at her flat, they’re moodier and more transgressive than the collection still here.

I scan the artists and find the record I’m looking for. My fingers slide familiarly over the worn cardboard as I ease the disc out of the cover. When the record begins to play, full-bodied, blue-eyed soul fills the room.

“What song is this?” Snow asks, pushing his empty plate onto a side table.

“Unchained Melody. The Righteous Brothers.”

He scoots over to make room for me. I stretch out lengthwise on the sofa, my torso between his legs, back against his chest, head nestled below his chin. His arms encircle me automatically and I thread his fingers through mine.

”It’s beautiful,” he whispers. His breathing is slow and even against my back as he listens.

“It is.”

“Will you tell me the story behind it?”

The truth is, this song has always made me think of Snow. Well, since I was fifteen anyway. I remember laying on this same sofa over Christmas break, hopelessly confused about my feelings, when I stumbled upon this track as I worked my way through my mother’s old albums.

“Back in fifth and sixth year I used to lock myself in here and listen to this song on repeat, thinking about my idiot roommate.” He chuckles at that. “That line – _I hunger for your touch alone_ – God, I thought it was written just for me. I wanted so badly for you to touch me. I didn’t even know how, exactly. It was torture.”

He sniggers.

“What?” I turn to give him a mock affronted look. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”

He laughs again, almost a snort, delighted with something in his own head.

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he asks, “Are you telling me that you wanked it to me and this song when you were fifteen?”

Retaliation is swift and merciless. Before he even registers his peril, I’m on top of him, pinning him down, tickling his sides and blowing raspberries onto his bare stomach. He squirms futilely, convulsing in laughter.

“Mercy!” He yells breathlessly, giggling as he pushes my shoulders away. “Mercy! Baz!”

I give him my best withering glare, which is undermined by the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “How dare you defile my pure and chaste love.” I blow a final raspberry and continue. “I’ll have you know I wanked it to you and _every_ song I listened to when I was fifteen.”

He laughs wholeheartedly and takes my face in his hands, pulling me down to his lips for a kiss.

“And I love you for it,” he says. His eyes, crinkled in the corners from grinning, lock on mine. “You uncivilized git.”


	3. Textbooks

**SIMON**

Baz eases himself out of bed.

“I’m going to hunt,” he whispers into my ear. He kisses my cheek and then he’s gone.

He does this most nights. It’s our routine, so normal that I barely notice it anymore. On nights when Baz and I go to bed together (which I'll admit has been less often, lately) he lays with me until I fall asleep and then lets himself out to hunt. He’s usually only gone an hour or two.

I fall back asleep quickly, bone tired after the long day.

Sometime in the night, I blearily reach for Baz but the sheets are empty. That’s weird, he’s normally home by now. I fumble for my phone on the side table. The screen reads four a.m. He should have been back hours ago.

It’s probably fine. We’re at his family’s home, and he knows the area. There’s no danger here.

But there’s always danger.

What if something happened?

My heartbeat kicks into overdrive. I hear my breathing become shallow. Merlin and Morgana. I automatically begin the breathing exercises I’ve learned in therapy to control my episodes. There’s no need to panic. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason he’s gone. I’ll just go out and check on him.

I throw on my tracksuit bottoms and a jumper and head into the sitting room. It’s empty, but there’s light coming from the kitchen. I find Baz hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table, textbooks and papers strewn around him. He’s absently chewing the end of a pen.

“Baz? What are you doing?” I ask groggily.

He unglues his face from the screen and stretches.

“Simon, I thought you were asleep. I’m just finishing a paper.”

My jaw clenches. The just-woke-up fogginess is replaced by irritation.

This was not the deal. When we planned this trip, I said I wanted a weekend free from work or school. Baz agreed, and we even chose dates that wouldn’t interfere with course deadlines.

“Baz, what the hell?” I ask.

He frowns. “I couldn’t sleep. Just go back to bed. I’ll be in shortly.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You promised. I want a weekend with my boyfriend without– without all of this.” I wave my arms heatedly at the book-filled table.

“Snow, I can’t simply stop ‘all of this’.” His mouth is a thin, annoyed line as he mimics my gesture. “I need to do well in these classes if I want to get into a decent law school. I can’t fuck this up.”

“One weekend away won’t hurt,” I say.

“You don’t know that,” he counters.

“Doing well in school isn’t everything, Baz.”

“Like you can talk,” he snaps.

We’ve had this argument a dozen times, and I know what comes next. I’ve practically memorized the script.

When I chose to quit uni after the first semester, I knew it would complicate Baz’s and my relationship. He and Penny are both so strong in academics. They tried to dissuade me, to convince me of the importance of further education. As if my decision had anything to do with that.

It’s been a year since I quit, and Baz and I continue to argue about school. I know he doesn’t mean to be hurtful, but his prejudices toward a university education are deeply ingrained. And I try to be supportive of his school choices, but it’s hard to watch him struggle through a double-major that makes him miserable.

“Baz, I don’t want to fight about this tonight.” My voice comes out as pleading but I don’t care.

He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, then pushes the chair away to stand in front of me.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” he says gently, as he takes my shoulders in his hands. “I was unfair.”

I melt into his chest and he wraps his arms around me, cheek pressed against my sleep-rumpled hair.

“I worry about you,” I say softly.

“I know, love. I’m sorry I’m doing schoolwork on our weekend together.”

We stay like that for several minutes, not talking. My eyes feel heavy and I’m about to pull away when Baz quietly adds, “I’m worried about this class. I’m cramming through material but I can’t keep up. Nothing sticks.”

I cover my surprise with a yawn. Baz _never_ complains about school.

“It’s OK,” I say, “You go sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”

Baz protests, but it seems like he could use a cuppa and some emotional support. I start the kettle and hunt in a cupboard for teabags.

I hand Baz a steaming mug and take mine to the sofa in the family room, next to the kitchen. The tea is hot and soothing. I listen to the repetitive _tap-tapping_ of Baz’s long fingers on the keyboard and try to keep my eyelids from drooping.

***

I don’t know exactly when I fall asleep, but it’s morning when I wake and sunlight streams into the room. Baz is curled on the other end of the sofa, his eyes shut tightly against the light. He must have covered us with a blanket at some point, but it slid off and sits in a woolen heap on the floor.

He looks so peaceful. I wish I could make time stop, to capture him exactly in this moment and shield him here forever.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, I rearrange myself on the sofa so we’re facing the same direction. I drape the blanket over us, ninety percent on him (his fingers are like icicles) and just the corner covering my arms. I press my back against his chest and let my breathing sync with his.

All through my adolescence, I never imagined I could have anything so satisfying, so _normal_. And now here I am, and I can’t imagine anything else.

Warm, loved and content, I drift off to sleep.


End file.
